


Christmas Spirit

by apliddell



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Autistic Character, Autistic Sherlock, Christmas, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Pre-Johnlock, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-03 21:06:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12154806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apliddell/pseuds/apliddell
Summary: And since come December, other people would insist on making a carnival out of the entire world, Sherlock’s nerves tended to be stretched a little thin over Christmas, and he felt not much like holly jollying.





	Christmas Spirit

When Sherlock Holmes was small, he didn’t much care for Christmas. It started out lovely, and he so wanted to have a good time. Everyone else seemed to. Except Mycroft, of course. Though Mycroft seemed to consider having a good time to be a moral failing. 

Sherlock so wanted to have a good time. But there were so many sounds and smells and dimly familiar people and bright lights and strange foods that he simply must try. Everything was out of place, and he was meant to be on his best behaviour for the guests. Sherlock has never exactly been sure what other people mean by “best behaviour” and he’s certain his notions of the thing must be quite unique. 

By the time Sherlock actually reached the day of, he was invariably exhausted with the whole ordeal and prone to brattish outbursts and being sent to his room “until you’re ready to be nice.” That last always stung too much to enjoy the quiet and solitude and familiarity of his bedroom. His discomfort made a poor companion of him. Was a thing not fit to be seen. And since come December, other people would insist on making a carnival out of the entire world, Sherlock’s nerves tended to be stretched a little thin over Christmas, and he felt not much like holly jollying.

Once on his own, Sherlock relished the opportunity to ignore Christmas. His flat stayed quiet (unless he blew something up) and calm (well interesting only in the ways he’d orchestrated for himself). It was a relief not to be expected to perform to other people’s standards and be left with the inevitable exhaustion and frustration of failure. 

Sherlock’s first December with John Watson surprised him. John, bless him, did go in for all that sort of thing. December 1 found him in a modestly festive fair isle jumper that Sherlock was annoyed at finding very attractive. On John. John had a way with those things and somehow managed to look extremely dashing, even in a snowflake pattern. 

John also had a habit of treating Sherlock like a sort of adventurous alien, recently come to Earth and would suggest things to Sherlock, without much expectation that Sherlock would be enthusiastic about them, but with some very exciting delight if he was. 

“Let me know if the carols bother you, and I’ll change it.”

“I love this one, actually.”

“Do you, really?”

“Yes, it’s one of my favourites. I can play it on my violin. I will for you some time, if you like.”

“No time like the present!”

Delicious. 

John’s joy was like nothing else. It gilded everything it touched. Nothing was to be spared in stoking it, and so the flat was decorated (John’s little grin when he looked at the red nose affixed to the deer skull!) and treats were baked and bought. Wine was mulled. John strung popcorn, and demonstrated the appropriate technique for preparing bourbon balls. They wrote out cards, sat across from each other at the table, though even between them, they scarcely had enough people to send them to to need an entire box of cards. 

So on Christmas Eve morning in his tartan dressing gown that John told him approvingly made him look like a Christmas card, Sherlock sat up in his bedroom, wrapping a small box in berry-red paper and writing a neat but fond card to one John Watson, wondering if he could manage to hand it to John while stood directly under the sprig of mistletoe he’d sneaked into the flat and hung at 3 o’clock in the morning and pondering that, Ahh! Ahhh, of course! This must be what people mean by Christmas spirit.


End file.
